“I don’t know how it is for everyone else, but for me, it can’t be about the money, at least not entirely. I want to look back on my life and know that I did something worthwhile.” ~ Jennifer Niesslein, “The Price of Writing”
The work we do as writers isn’t always about the making money. It isn’t always about crafting the perfectly structured essay or flash fiction either. Sometimes, it’s just about telling the story.
I’m in the process of putting together a third anthology of work by writers at Harwood Place: Lost, Found, and Loved. I don’t get paid to work with these writers or to design the anthology, but the time spent with them and this project is precious nonetheless. As I retype their pieces into my computer from handwritten or printed copies (only a few of them use email), I realize again how much I love their stories. I also gain a better understanding about my purpose within this group.
When I write an essay or a story, I will spend hours, days, months on end revising, restructuring, agonizing at times (I can be quite dramatic). For these writers, certain stories will undergo deeper rewrites, but more often they share their story at the table, consider revising a little, and move on. They look forward to the next prompt, the next meeting, the next reading.
I’ve struggled with this in the past, thinking I’m their teacher and shouldn’t I press them to do more–reinforce that the real writing is in the rewriting? But, I’ve come to accept that their decision is perfectly okay.
Doris Lessing says:
Humanity’s legacy of stories and storytelling is the most precious we have. All wisdom is in our stories and songs. A story is how we construct our experiences. At the very simplest, it can be: ‘He/she was born, lived, and died.’
The truth for these writers at Harwood Place–their experience at the table and, later, in front of the podium–is that they are there for each other. Last Saturday at our recent meeting, they had written on a simple prompt, “When we played cards…” (based on “Poker” by Paul Farley). As they took turns reading their stories out loud, the room filled with laughter, more personal accounts, deeper connections, and a solid sixty-minutes of pure joy.
That is the legacy of storytelling.
That makes the writing worthwhile.
* Check the Events page for the date, time, and place of our next reading.
But, some of that nervousness slipped away as the room filled up with an audience. And again when I saw one writer’s face light up the moment his daughter and her family arrived.
Facilitating a writing class, working with others–especially this group at Harwood Place–is a constant exercise in discovery for me and the members of the group. We uncover the talent within each of us and pave the way to bring a memory or experience back to life. Later at an event like this, we reveal to ourselves and those around us the power in listening, in writing, and in sharing.
